He shrugs. “Off your phone. Duh.”
Jesus. My text thread with Beck has been mostly PG, I think. Mostly. But there have been some exchanges between us that I wouldn’t want Charlie to see.
I don’t growl at him for invading my privacy, though, because this is on me. I broke my own rules. I introduced him to Beck, and now it’s awkward. Beck is probably pissed off at me and feels obligated to navigate Charlie’s questions.
Heart thumping, all I can do is walk out of the room. I end up in my super-clean bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed, taking a slow breath. Then I pull out my phone and find my last text exchange with Beck. It’s totally fine—just me inquiring about his health the morning after he was sick.
Now I send him one more message.
Hey. Thanks for playing with Charlie. I know I put you in that position. He looks up to you, and we both appreciate your generosity toward him.
Ugh. Sounds like a press release.
I put the phone face down and bury my head in my hands. I miss Beck. In this house. In this room. He’s fun. He’s sexy. He’s decent to the core.
And he hasn’t been texting me. He doesn’t beg, which somehow makes me feel even shittier. I drew a line, and he sees it clearly. He even respects it.
Any second now, he’ll finally meet some guy with cash in his pocket and fewer obligations and more free time.
So why do I feel so awful right now? There’s a heavy spot in the center of my chest—like I’ve made a huge mistake.
I’m just sitting here drowning in my own misery when my phone vibrates with a notification. And before I can stop myself, I’ve picked it up to look.
There’s no new text. There’s just… Beck has given my text a thumb’s up.
The most polite middle finger in the whole damn world.
Early on the following Tuesday evening, I’m starting my shift at the bar when I look up and find Kenji and Denny seated in front of me. It’s so surprising that I actually jump a little. “Where’d you two come from?”
“We’ve been here for, like, five minutes,” Kenji says with a wide smile. “We’re going to a Cougars game, and we thought we’d stop in to see your bar first.”
“Wow, okay.” For a millisecond I’m sad they didn’t ask me to go to the game, too. But just as quickly I realize I would have had to say no, and that they already know this. “Cool, cool. How about a drink? You want?—?”
“I got it already.” Scully plunks two beers down on the bar. “You’ve been obliviously restocking the beer fridge for, like, an eon.”
“Sorry,” I mutter. “I’m just a little distracted.”
Denny snorts. “That’s like saying Travis Kelce likes the spotlight a little. You misplayed half your hands at poker last week.”
“You’re shitting me,” Scully says, propping an elbow on the bar. “Forest is trash at poker? I woulda thought he was a shark.”
“He’s usually great,” Kenji says. “But last week he couldn’t seem to pay attention. We were all kind of worried about you after.”
Oh hell. “I’m fine. Seriously.” And it would be great if we could change the subject now.
Scully has a familiar nosy look on his face. “He’s been kind of a wreck here, too,” he says. “I think it’s because of…”
“Beck,” all three of my friends say at once. Then they laugh.
“Guys, come on. My private life isn’t open for discussion.”
“It is when you folded top pair to a check-raise from Big Bob,” Kenji says. “Which, come on. His bluff face looks like he’s trying to take a shit.”
Scully whistles. “Oof. That’s not distracted. That’s lovesick.”
“I’m not lovesick,” I whine. “I was tired. And maybe a little drunk.”
“And that was weird,” Denny says. “Mr. Responsible drank all my gin and had to Uber home.”
